


The Bible Project

by squiddz



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 15th Century, Crowley Being a Bastard (Good Omens), Fluff, Historical Shenanigans, I guess Johannes Gutenberg is my OC now, M/M, i can be your angle or yuor devil, some light pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24543070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiddz/pseuds/squiddz
Summary: "Alright, tell you what. Why don't we both go pay him a visit, together."Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "I’m sorry?""You know, plead our cases to him. Be the angel and demon on his shoulder."For a brief moment Aziraphale wondered if this was some sort of trick Crowley was playing on him.---In which Crowley and Aziraphale are both tasked with securing the printing press as a tool for their respective sides, and visit Johannes Gutenberg together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 104





	The Bible Project

**Author's Note:**

> I had a huge block on writing for ages so I've been going back over old WIPs I never quite finished to try and jump start something. That's how you ended up with this. I don't know, I just wanted to write about them being dumb in the Middle Ages.
> 
> Many thanks to anti_kate for reassurances and ideas.

**Mainz, Holy Roman Empire**

**1452 A.D.**

The market square bustled with activity. Flocks of sheep and cattle guided by farmers plodded alongside weary packhorses laiden with sacks of grain. Merchants flogged brass pots and pewterware next to stalls boasting fine silks and exotic spices. Every clever thing humans had learned how to make out of plants and animals and even the Earth itself was out on display, and Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to stop and browse through all of it. Perhaps once he’d finished up with his assignment he could treat himself to a spot of shopping. A new cloak wouldn't go amiss. He sidestepped a parade of goats and steadfastly focused on making his way to one of the streets on the other side of the plaza.

About halfway there, something bright and sweet caught his attention. Sitting atop a table, under the watchful eye of a man in a long brown tunic, were crates of delicious fruit; ruby apples, wine-dark figs, and heaps of grapes and berries. Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t. After his last quarterly report, Gabriel had given him a dressing-down for indulging a little too heavily in Earthly delights. Then his eyes settled on a pile of golden pears, delicately speckled and blushed with hints of red. As he debated whether or not a light snack was really worth enduring another five hour lecture on the blasphemy of consuming gross matter, a flash of black appeared at the corner of his vision.

"Really now, lead astray by some fruit? Bit on the nose, don’t you think?"

The familiar voice sent a shot of nervous excitement down the length of Aziraphale's spine. Before he could do something as regrettable as smiling, he schooled his expression into one of haughty indignation.

"Crowley," he said curtly. "I thought I smelled the foul stench of Evil."

Against his better judgement, Aziraphale let his eyes sweep over the sight before him. Crowley was draped in a doublet of black silk brocade that flared fashionably at the sleeves, and hugged generously at his waist. His auburn hair hung freely in loose waves down to his shoulders, elegantly framing his sharp face. Aziraphale clenched his jaw and turned away, pretending to be distracted by the racket of some chickens at another stall.

"Think that might just be the livestock," said Crowley.

By the time Aziraphale had composed himself, Crowley had approached the fruit vendor. He dropped some coins into the man’s palm in exchange for three pears, and handed them to Aziraphale.

“Here, now you’re just performing your Heavenly duties,” he said with a smirk. “Confiscating these tools of temptation from the wily Serpent of Eden.”

Aziraphale tucked them away in some miraculous pocket in his powder blue tunic as his cheeks turned warm. His human body often did things on its own like that, just giving away his feelings in terribly undignified ways. It had been ten years and four months since he'd last seen Crowley (not that he was secretly keeping count or anything). In the stretches of time between their meetings, Aziraphale found it almost easy to convince himself that there were perfectly holy reasons for the way his stomach dipped at the thought of shining yellow eyes or that knife-edged crooked smile. Then Crowley would slither across his path again, and knock all his carefully laid out thoughts into a scattered mess.

"Right, well," he huffed. "I have some work to get on with."

He took a few steps away from the vendor before he paused, lingering just long enough that Crowley might have time to decide to join him. Not missing a beat, Crowley cantered up beside him, hovering an arm’s length away.

"Do you now?" he asked as they began threading through the crowd.

Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back as they passed a stall selling furs and bags of fleece. "Here to see that Gutenberg fellow. Upstairs seems to think his invention might be of use."

Crowley hummed idly to himself. "Well, this is an interesting turn of events. I'm here for the same thing. My lot are quite excited about his contraption. Ability to mass print anything? Good way to spread some rather dangerous ideas."

"Or some very noble ones," Aziraphale countered.

"Perhaps," Crowley replied thoughtfully.

The chaos of the market faded behind them as they meandered down a narrow street lined with colourful half-timbered buildings. The back and forth helped Aziraphale find his footing again after the initial fluster of Crowley's sudden appearance. It was safe, solid ground that he knew how to navigate without having to think too hard about the way his heart was fluttering against his ribcage.

"Hopefully I can speak with him _first_ and ensure he uses his ingenuity for good," he said archly.

Crowley tilted his head to the side. "And why exactly would I let you do that?"

The response caught him so off guard that Aziraphale stopped dead in the middle of the street - much to the annoyance of the woman carrying a basket of bread behind him.

"What do you-- Crowley, this isn’t something that should end up in the wrong hands."

Crowley's mouth twisted into an amused grin and he leaned forward. "Well, I suppose we agree on that, don't we?"

Frustration bubbled up inside Aziraphale’s chest, though he wasn't sure if it was because of the conversation, or because of the alluring scent of cloves and almond oil rolling off of Crowley’s hair. He sighed and lowered his voice. "You know how much work I've put into helping humans preserve their knowledge."

Crowley's face softened in a way that was frighteningly vulnerable, but no sooner had Aziraphale blinked than it was gone.

"Alright, tell you what. Why don't we both go pay him a visit, _together._ "

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "I’m sorry?"

"You know, plead our cases to him. Be the angel and demon on his shoulder."

For a brief moment Aziraphale wondered if this was some sort of trick Crowley was playing on him. He remembered the pears in his pocket, and guilt immediately prickled at the back of his head.

"That sounds utterly ridiculous. And _entirely_ unnecessary, Good always triumphs over Evil."

Crowley heaved an exasperated sigh, and Aziraphale knew he was rolling his eyes behind his dark glasses. "Well then, this should be an easy win for you, shouldn’t it?"

Aziraphale considered the offer carefully. If it was a trick, he couldn't figure out what Crowley's angle was.

"Fine," he said warily.

“Excellent. Shall we?”

They continued down the cobbled street in silence until they reached a whitewashed stone building with diamond paned windows. Despite Crowley’s provocations, Aziraphale was full of giddy anticipation. It was hard to believe that behind the walls of this unassuming building was a machine that could have such a profound effect on the course of human progress.

"Alright, best get your holiest, most angelic affectation on," Crowley said as he reached for the door handle.

"Hang on a minute!" Aziraphale hissed. "We can't just… barge in there without a plan.”

“‘Course we can.” Crowley shot him a look from over his shoulder. “What do you need a plan for anyway? I thought Good always triumphs over Evil.”

Before another word on the matter could be said, Crowley pushed the door open and left Aziraphale to scramble into the building after him.

The inside of the workshop was a picture of organised chaos, with stacks of loose vellum pages strewn across ink-stained tables, and planks of wood piled up against a far wall. Sitting at a desk towards the back of the room was a man huddled over a ledger, thoughtfully stroking his thick beard. He looked up at the two of them as they crossed the threshold.

“Good day, gentlemen. May I help you?”

Crowley pulled his spine straight and took a step forward. “Hello, we’re looking for Herr Gutenberg.”

“Ah, that would be me,” the man said with a placid smile. “What can I do for you?”

"My name is Herr Crowley and this is my associate, Herr Fell. We're looking to invest in a business venture and we’re interested in supporting your publishing endeavour." Crowley’s voice was smooth and honeyed, and Aziraphale wondered if he wasn't greasing the wheels of conversation with a little occult persuasion.

"Oh really?" Gutenberg replied.

"Yes," Aziraphale chimed in. "And we’d like to hear what you have planned. To, erm, better understand what we might be getting ourselves into."

Gutenberg sat for a moment in contemplative silence, rapping his fingers on the desk. "Well, I currently have a benefactor, but more financial stability is always welcome."

"Yes, money _is_ important," Crowley said sagely.

" _But,_ ” Aziraphale interjected. “Perhaps not as important as the responsibility that comes with being able to spread knowledge so efficiently.”

"Indeed. Why, one could spread whatever information they like with this sort of machine."

"And an _accurately_ informed populace is an empowered one," Aziraphale added, trying not to let his aggravation bleed through into his words.

Gutenberg looked between the two of them, brow pinching together in confusion. “Erm, yes, I suppose these are all good points.”

Aziraphale stole a nervous glance over at Crowley. "Perhaps we could... see the device in question?"

Gutenberg’s face lit up with delight. “Oh, certainly! I think you’ll find it most fascinating.” He stood up and headed towards an archway in a far corner of the room. "If you'll follow me, please," he said as he disappeared down a corridor.

Crowley breezed past wearing a smile that filled Aziraphale with slow burning anger and something else that made him want to grab Crowley by the shoulders and pin him against the nearest wall. He quickly tamped down that ridiculous thought.

Gutenberg led them down the corridor and up a short flight of stairs until they came to a dim room where a pair of men were fussing over an odd-looking wooden contraption. They looked up from their work momentarily before getting back to whatever fiddly adjustments they were making.

"Here it is," Gutenberg said, gesturing broadly with outstretched arms. "My most recent prototype."

"Simply marvelous," Aziraphale said as he came to stand at Gutenberg's right side. "I can't wait to see the impact it will have on the world."

"Oh yes," Crowley drawled from Gutenberg's other side. "Quite the impact, I'm sure. You can decide exactly what other people get to read."

“And that’s a power that can be used to help,” Aziraphale added quickly. “Things like scientific writings and medical texts could be widely distributed. What a contribution you could make to improving people’s lives!”

Gutenberg turned his head to Aziraphale and nodded. "That’s a wonderful thought, isn't it?"

“Are you sure anyone’s going to read anything so boring, though?” Crowley asked. “If you ask me, the general public wants something far more scandalous.”

Gutenberg turned his head the other way to regard Crowley. “You really think so?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “People are far more virtuous than that.”

"Oh, I think the likes of Chaucer have already proven my point, dear Fell," Crowley retorted, sounding rather a lot like he was enjoying himself. “Or you could go with gossip. People love to revel in others’ misfortune.”

“I’m sure Herr Gutenberg has no interest in stooping to such vulgar tactics.”

"Vulgar is what people want, and that's what will make the most money. Our friend here was just telling us how important financial support can be."

Gutenberg hummed contemplatively between the two of them. "He is right, unfortunately. Money does make these things easier."

Aziraphale clenched his fists at his sides until his fingernails dug into the meat of his palm, increasingly feeling as though he’d followed a lion into its den. Or a snake, more like.

"And," Crowley continued, voice dropping to a stage whisper. "I heard a little rumour going around that your current business partner is thinking of swindling you out of your money."

"What?" Gutenberg exclaimed, putting a hand on his chest. "Johan, really?"

"I'm afraid so," Crowley said with faux disappointment. "But you could always get one step ahead of him and publish all his dirty secrets."

"That is a truly despicable thing to suggest," Aziraphale said through his teeth.

Crowley threw up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm just trying to make sure there's no room for failure here. Get one over on the man plotting your demise and make money while you do it."

"Crowley, that's not--"

The metallic clang of church bells cut Aziraphale off, and startled the man standing between angel and demon.

"Oh goodness, I didn't realise it was already one o'clock. I'm afraid I have a meeting with my son-in-law, perhaps we could continue this conversation another time?"

"Of course," Crowley said before Aziraphale could get a word in.

Gutenberg ushered them both back to the shop front, where he returned to his desk to gather some ledgers and pick up a fur-lined hat.

"Well, it's been… interesting, gentlemen," he said, approaching the front door. "In case it helps you make a decision about your investment, you may be interested to know that we've decided that the first text we'll be publishing is the Holy Bible."

There was a satisfying burst of joy in Aziraphale's chest that spread all the way to the broad smile stretching across his face. "Is that so?" he asked, catching the slight droop of Crowley's shoulders. "How delightful!"

"Yes, I rather think so too," Gutenberg replied.

He donned his hat and the three of them stepped out the door and back out onto the cobbled street.

"Do drop by again if you'd like to discuss numbers," he said. "Good day, gentlemen."

Aziraphale gave him a nod and watched as he set off down the road. Once he'd disappeared into the foot traffic, Aziraphale slowly turned his head towards Crowley, who was standing with his arms folded across his chest.

"Oh, go on then, I know you're just dying to say it."

"Good always triumphs over Evil, Crowley."

He braced for some kind of biting remark in return, but Crowley simply sighed. There was a note of exhaustion to it that poked at Aziraphale’s heart.

"Erm, you know, I saw a rather cozy looking tavern by the river. I was thinking of stopping by for a well-earned drink or two."

The faint hint of a smile flickered on Crowley's lips. "Interesting. Perhaps I might see you there."

* * *

Crowley set his mug of ale back down on the hardwood table with a thud. "Will you wipe that sanctimonious grin off your face?"

"I'm just reflecting on a job well done, that's all." Aziraphale took a sip of his own ale and scowled. Though he enjoyed the wide variety of fermented drinks humanity had concocted over the years, the sharpness of bitter hops was a taste he had not yet acquired. The ale very discreetly turned itself into a lively claret.

"Job well done, you think that's what that was?" Crowley leaned over the table on his elbow, resting his chin on his hand.

"Gutenberg saw the wisdom of my words, the printing press shall be used to spread the message of Heaven, and you--" He paused to give Crowley a triumphant smile. "--have been well and truly thwarted. Job well done if I ever heard one."

"Oh for Satan's sake, you didn't do anything.”

“Nonetheless, he’s chosen to print the Bible, and I’ll count that as a win.” Aziraphale wiggled back into his seat. “The printing press is being used for Good.”

The corner of Crowley's mouth quirked upwards. "Right, because humans are famously peaceful when it comes to spreading their religions around."

"People find solace in religion, many have been moved to perform great acts of compassion as a result."

"And you know as well as I do that for every morally-upstanding citizen helping the poor there are ten kings or emperors or generals making a grab for power and pretending it's all in the name of their gods."

Aziraphale watched Crowley take another swig of ale. He wanted to argue with him, but the litany of events that the two of them had borne witness to over the millennia did rather corroborate Crowley's point.

"So what are you saying? That you've somehow weaseled this into a win for your side?"

"What I'm _saying_ is that you can go back to your lot and tell them the printing press is being used to spread the Word of the Lord, I tell Downstairs that it's only a matter of time before it causes the disagreements that will inevitably spill over into war, and then the two of us just let humanity play itself out."

Aziraphale pursed his lips to at least put up a pretense of resistance before he finally sighed into his drink. “Oh, alright. A draw then.” He put his drink down and stared into the deep garnet of his wine. “How did you know about Gutenberg’s business partner, by the way?”

Crowley chuckled darkly, and Aziraphale had the sinking feeling that he was on the cusp of developing a throbbing headache. “I may have paid him a little visit before I caught up with you. Easy mark for a Temptation if ever there was one.”

There it was, the trick.

Aziraphale threw him a reproachful glare. “What did you do?”

“Honestly, not a lot,” Crowley said, grinning like a jackal. “The man was _dripping_ with greed, money does a far better job at corrupting humans than I ever could.”

Crowley’s smile faltered then, a hairline crack in the cocksure facade.

“But, erm… he did give me this.”

Crowley reached behind his back and produced a package wrapped in purple velvet.

“Is that…” Aziraphale reached out a hand to touch the cover, but stopped short. “May I?”

“Yeah, ‘course you can.”

Aziraphale gingerly took hold of the parcel and pulled back the fabric to reveal a thick book bound in embossed red leather. He stared reverently at the object, running fascinated fingertips across the fine leatherwork. Slowly, he lifted the cover and gasped softly at the wonders inside. The printing was a marvel, the letters crisp and consistent throughout, and each page was intricately decorated with beautiful illuminations. As he flipped carefully through the text, he was overcome by the profound sense of awe he always felt towards human cleverness, at how much thought and care and skill they put into sharing their ideas with each other.

“It’s yours if you like,” Crowley said, voice suddenly very soft. Aziraphale lifted his gaze from the manuscript and was met with the unyielding dark lenses of Crowley’s glasses.

“Are you sure?”

His mouth twitched slightly as he shifted in his seat and shrugged. “I'm not exactly going to be sitting down to read it, am I? Burns me when I touch it anyway.”

“Crowley, this is…” Aziraphale trailed off as some cog in his mind suddenly fell into place with a heavy clunk. “Wait a minute. If you had this, then you already knew…”

“That he was using his little machine to make a bunch of bibles? Yes, I did.” Crowley was trying desperately to hide his laughter behind his mug.

Aziraphale sputtered a string of incomprehensible syllables before he managed to swallow enough of his anger to speak. “You… wicked fiend. Why on _Earth_ did you go to all that trouble convincing me we should go together?”

“Because then I'd have squandered an opportunity to wind you up for an afternoon.”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re ridiculous. What a waste of my time.”

Unable to hold back his mirth any longer, Crowley doubled over laughing. His hair swayed as he moved, catching the dim lighting of the tavern, and Aziraphale was captivated by the way it shimmered like flames.

He tore his eyes away from Crowley and looked down at the book in his hands. “And why exactly did his business partner give you a bible?” he asked slowly.

“I may have… made some kind of a deal with him. He wanted money, I wanted the book. Seemed like a fairer price than his soul.”

“You used a bible as part of some kind of… demonic bribe?!”

“Oh, don’t get your drawers in a twist. Like I said, he’s already got plans to swindle our pal Gutenberg out of his money, he’ll get what he wants without any help from me. I just thought I might get something useful out of it.” He drained the rest of his drink and let the mug fall back to the table with a thump. “And... I know how much you love human things like that.”

Aziraphale’s chest tightened. He wondered what Hell might say - or do - if they found out that a demon had been collecting holy scripture to give to an angel. The thought turned his stomach. They were engaged in a dangerous game, and Crowley seemed bent on playing it recklessly. For one terrifying moment, Aziraphale wanted to reach out for Crowley's hand, but he quickly shook the notion from his head.

“Yes, well… I suppose it would be inappropriate for a demon to keep hold of a bible. I… I’ll look after it.”

Crowley's face was indecipherable for a moment before his usual playful demeanor returned. “Shall we get another round then? Celebrate the imminent success of the printed word?”

"Go on then."

Crowley stood up and grabbed both of their mugs, smiling as he left the table.

Aziraphale glanced back down at the book in his hands, at the bright red cover that brought to mind a cascade of beautiful auburn curls, and rubbed his thumb against the spine. Centuries from now, Aziraphale would find the book tucked away in a cabinet where he'd kept it for safekeeping, would run his fingers over the faded leather and show it to Crowley where he lounged on a sofa. The pair of them would laugh as they each tried to retell the story, fumbling through the haze of wine, taking a thousand detours through other memories until they'd forgotten what they were talking about and fell asleep wrapped up in each other's arms.

But Aziraphale knew nothing of that yet. Instead he held the book tightly to his chest, and decided then and there that he would do everything in his power to keep it from harm.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://heavens-bookshop.tumblr.com)!


End file.
